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the front in Lynn's handwriting.
    "Now you're writing me notes instead of talking to me face to face?" he had shouted toward the light spilling from the bedroom doorway at the end of the hall.
    He stormed into the bedroom and saw Lynn's body sprawled across the blood-soaked bed . . . . Steve pressed his palms to his skull and forced his eyes open, battling the relentless memory, willing away the horrible pictures. Drained, he half staggered to the phone.
    "This is Steve Janson. I've got to talk to Greg."
    The line clicked and in a few seconds Markham picked up.
    "Greg, it's Steve Janson. I can't do this. I just can't."
    "Steve, slow down. What happened?"
    "What happened? What do you think happened? I can't deal with this."
    "Greg, you--"
    "I can't go through this again, not for Tom Travis."
    "He's not that bad. Don't believe everything you read in the papers."
    "That's not it."
    "Then what is it?"
    "I don't want to get into that."
    "Are you telling me you have personal issue with Travis? Did something happen between you two?"
    "Just drop it, okay? I don't want to talk about him. I just can't handle this poor woman's murder."
    "But what about the girl?"
    "I can't bring back the dead. God, if only I could."
    "I don't mean Marian Travis."
    "I'm sorry about the baby too, but what's done is done."
    "I'm talking about her daughter, Sarah. She's still out there somewhere. What about her?"
    "Sarah, she--"
    "She disappeared with Marian but they never found her body. If the murderer had killed her, why wasn't her body in the grave? The cops searched the whole damn park. Sarah isn't there."
    "So he buried her someplace else. Who knows why people do what they do?"
    "She wasn't in the grave because she's not dead. She was too young to identify the killer so he didn't have to murder her. He just got rid of her, did something with her, kept her, sold her, dumped her, but she's out there alive, alone, and in trouble. We're her last hope. Steve, you're her last hope."
    "Let the cops find her."
    "Officially the cops think Travis killed them both and they've stopped looking for her. They can't search for her because if they did that would make it look like maybe they believed Travis didn't do it."
    "Travis probably did do it. He's the one who knows where she is. Get him to tell you."
    "Jesus, Steve, if Travis is the killer he'll never, ever admit it and, alive or dead, we'll never find that little girl. If Travis didn't do it, there's a chance, a good chance, that she's alive out there someplace, alone and in trouble. Steve, she's depending on you."
    "Find someone else."
    "There isn't anyone else! The trial's going to be over in a couple of weeks and unless you find some new evidence Travis is going to be convicted and everything will stop, case closed. I won't have authority to look for the girl. Once the verdict is in, I'm done. No money, no subpoena power, nothing."
    "Greg, I can't--"
    "Stop thinking about yourself for once! You didn't do what you did for Lynn. You did it for you! It was all about you! Well, fuck you! Fuck you! Do something for somebody else for a change! This time, God damn it, save the innocent instead of punishing the guilty! I'm begging you, Steve, do the right thing. Forget about yourself just for once and save that little girl before it's too late, before she ends up like Lynn. . . . Steve. . . Steve?"
    For a long moment the line crackled faintly, the only sound a hollow, whooshing noise.
    "I'll never forgive you for this."
    "Steve--"
    "I'll try," Steve whispered and the line went dead.

Chapter Seven

    Steve contemplated the vodka bottle for thirty seconds then snapped the seal. He drizzled the juice from a wrinkled lemon into half a glass of Von's orange juice and followed it with a handful of ice cubes and then vodka all the way to the top. The concoction went down like broken razor blades but it numbed him enough to get him back to the file box on the couch. Randomly, he leafed through the folders without conscious